Where You Sing

 

She sat, chin resting on her chest

her ashen hair laying this way

and that

eyes closed tightly

lips parched and

slightly parted

as she dozed

a frown darkening her aged face.

 

Her voice once a sweet melody

with strong vibrato

she sang

in choirs

she sang to her children

as she cheerfully did her housework 

singing as natural as the birds.

 

Now her voice is lost

inside her

in a place where it must be

coaxed to return,

sealed in a prison

where the key cannot

always be found. 

 

Today, I sang to her,

and the familiar tune and rhythm

unlocked the door. 

Words began to form,

the melody emerged with

wobbly tones, soft and expressive,

and though her eyes never opened,

her head and shoulders swayed

and bobbed to the beat of the song. 

She smiled when I sang to her. 

She spoke to herself,

perhaps recalling a memory

only she could understand.

 

And in that moment,

she was found. 

She was present. 

She was Annabelle, and she was happy –

when she sang.